


Sunday Morning, Rain is Falling

by neverhaveieverbooks



Category: Glee
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 09:50:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6074713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverhaveieverbooks/pseuds/neverhaveieverbooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine loved Sunday mornings.  Pure fluff in a ficlet, no plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Morning, Rain is Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song Sunday Morning, by Maroon Five.
> 
> Please follow us on tumblr at neverhaveieverbooks!

Blaine loved Sunday mornings.  On this particular Sunday he could hear the raindrops spattering against the window next to the bed before he even opened his eyes.  Kurt was still fast asleep, sprawled next to him on his back, snoring gently with every few breaths.  Blaine unfurled himself from Kurt slowly, so as not to wake him, and pushed himself over to face the window.  Yup. Raining.  And windy.  Sometimes it was hard to know what the weather was in New York.  You couldn’t hear raindrops pattering on the roof of an apartment building, the way Blaine used to be able to hear them in his bedroom at home, tucked up under the eaves of the house.  Wind moved between the skyscrapers in odd gusts, coming and going without warning.  And even a sunny day was sometimes obscured by the shadows cast by buildings.

 

But today was clearly rainy and windy, and it didn’t look like it was going to clear up any time soon.  They would have to rethink their plan of heading to the Botanical Garden in the Bronx to see that new sculpture exhibit.  

 

Blaine rolled back away from the window, reattaching himself to Kurt’s long frame.  He tucked one of his legs over Kurt’s hip, and snuggled in close to his rib cage, hand coming down gingerly on Kurt’s waist, apparently not gingerly enough. Kurt stirred a bit, then turned into Blaine’s embrace, smiling without opening his eyes, and nuzzling his nose into Blaine’s hair.

 

As Kurt started to wake up, reaching a hand over to Blaine and pulling him in closer, Blaine tucked his face in Kurt’s neck, planting light kisses there, in the soft nook behind Kurt’s ear; Blaine knew it was a _thing_ for Kurt.  Soon enough, that awakened both of them in all the right ways. Yes, Blaine really loved Sunday mornings.

 

***

 

After, spooning lazily up behind Kurt, drawing his fingers through  the trail of fine hair on Kurt’s belly, tracing hearts, and curlicues and their initials on his soft skin, just to keep the connection between them, Blaine told Kurt, “It’s raining out. “

 

“Hmmm.” Blaine couldn’t tell if Kurt was agreeing with him or just humming in contentment.  They lay together for more long moments, until Kurt turned over to face Blaine, his hair still sleep-mussed.  He pushed their foreheads together, his arm pulling Blaine in close by the waist.  He flung a long leg over Blaine’s thigh.

 

“I guess we have nowhere to go then.  Should I make the crepes with orange sauce, or greek omelets?”

 

Blaine smiled.  Sunday mornings were the best.

 

***

An hour later, the two of them sat at their tiny kitchen table, finishing up french-pressed coffee, Kurt’s crepes, and a bowl of strawberries Kurt had picked up at the farmer’s market yesterday.  The rain was still pouring down steadily outside the window.  Blaine was trying to complete the crossword puzzle in the Sunday New York Times, and he was stuck on 27 Down: “Actress who played Amanda in The Glass Menagerie. Six letters.” He reached out his foot to tuck it slyly under Kurt’s thigh on the kitchen chair, then read the clue out loud to Kurt. Kurt wiggled a bit to accommodate, and, without looking up from the Style section replied “Taylor. Laurette Taylor.”  He was right of course.  Blaine could never stump Kurt with Broadway clues.  He glanced over at Kurt, who was frowning over a photo spread.

 

“What?” Blaine asked.  “Is something wrong? Did they tuck in the model’s shirt wrong again? Or mix stripes with the wrong plaid?”

 

Kurt shot him an _I am not amused with you_ look, but a little smile spread across his face as he turned the paper to show it to Blaine.  The photo showed a male model in a heavy cowlneck sweater, paired with a simple white dress shirt and a brightly colored bowtie.

 

Kurt pointed at the bowtie.

 

“That.  I thought I might try to make it for you, only in a Diamond-Point instead of the Butterfly style they used. And not in that blue.  And definitely not cotton.  It’s February for God’s sake. What are they thinking, using a summer fabric? Maybe a dark purple silk with a tiny yellow dot for contrast.”

 

Blaine grinned at Kurt, his face set in concentration as he grabbed a pencil and started doodling bowtie patterns in the margin of the newspaper.

 

“So you want to make me that same bowtie only in an entirely different style, color and fabric?”  Blaine teased, gently.

 

Kurt looked up at him, completely serious.  “Well, of course, Blaine.  My idea is much better, you have to admit.”

 

Blaine wiggled his toes slightly under Kurt’s leg, enjoying the firm pressure there.

 

“Yeah,” he agreed, turning back to the crossword puzzle.  “Your idea is much better.” Sunday mornings were so good.

 

***

 

Half an hour after that, Blaine had scanned most of the paper, stacked the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, and stared out the window in the living room for a few minutes, watching the rain come down in sheets. Kurt was in the bedroom folding laundry, and Blaine wandered in to help him.  Coming up behind Kurt, who was bent over a pile of unmatched socks, Blaine pulled him into an embrace from behind, dropping a light kiss on Kurt’s right arm.

 

“I should probably start that History of Theater  paper this afternoon, since we can’t go anywhere,” he said, hooking his chin over Kurt’s shoulder, reeling himself in closer. Kurt shifted in front of him, still looking at the socks on the bed in front of him, then turned easily into Blaine’s embrace and wrapped his arms around Blaine’s neck.  

 

“That sounds like a good idea.  And we also need to make a grocery list, and vacuum.

 

Blaine sighed.  That Sunday morning feeling was starting to ebb, as the next week crowded in.

 

“But Blaine?”  Kurt moved one hand off of Blaine’s neck and pushed it into the back of the elastic waistband of Blaine’s flannel sleep pants.

 

Blaine smiled, swayed into the touch.  

 

“Hmmm?” he hummed into Kurt’s hair.

 

When he spoke again, Kurt’s voice was a whisper,

 

“It’s still Sunday morning for another half hour.”

 

Blaine kissed Kurt then, hard, as he pushed him back down onto the unmade bed, scattering socks heedlessly.

 

God, Blaine _loved_ Sunday mornings.


End file.
